From the Outside Looking In
by Writing2Death
Summary: "It happened every day, hour, minute … and was passed down, down, down until it morphed into 'Merlin is in the stocks… again'." Looking at our lovely characters from the POV of an original character. -Companion to What's in a Name?


**Title: **From the Outside Looking In  
**Author: **Writing2Death  
**Pairings: **-Again,bigbreath- Implied Merlin/OC, Arthur/Merlin, Merlin/Morgana, Gwen/Morgana  
**Rating:** E (for everyone :D)  
**Word Count:** 2,182 words  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** General Spoilers for S1 and S2. Direct allusions to S1 The Moment of Truth and S2 The Nightmare Begins  
**Summary:** "It happened every day, hour, minute … and was passed down, down, down until it morphed into to 'Merlin is in the stocks… again'."

Um, written as a gift-fic for my lovely friend who basically looked at _What's in a Name?_ and said, "Why don't I get one?" so I wrote this. Which is, basically, a companion piece to _What's in a Name?_ Since I did the POV of an original character in a Modern!AU I wanted to explore the POV of a regular servant in the canon era. Let me know what you think :D

* * *

**From the Outside Looking In**

**AKA: Different, much different**

**OR: Hello, my Lovely Readers**

Dear Diary,

No, I couldn't start it that way – it sounds cliché.

Hi—

Nope. Way to personal.

Hello, my lovely readers,

Well, it was stupid but that's all right. I could always edit it later.

"Emma— !"

"Coming!" I called back, the notebook with the expensive suede covering snapping shut in my hands. I'd nicked it that morning from milady's chambers. It was just sitting there all innocently on her desk, empty. It had been taunting me like that since milady got it and if she was never going to use it I doubt she'd miss it, right? So, I'd slipped it in my apron and no one was the wiser?

Yeah, that was a question.

But I'd just been running my hands over the pages, not writing. I didn't have anything to write with – just the book. I'd been imagining the first words I'd scribble onto the pages.

"Emma!"

Swallowing, I made my way into milady's bedchamber, the weight of the book comforting against my thighs.

Pressing my lips into a line, I curtsied, "Yes, milady?"

She had strawberry hair done in waves down her back. I know it took exactly two hours to complete because I'd warmed the curling iron in the fire that morning. My hair was a decorative mess, two braids down just past my shoulders with hair escaping right, left, and centre. (Pretty, very pretty and I was not jealous.)

"I'm feeling a little peckish," she said, straightening the skirt of her gown. "Could you run down to the kitchens and get me something sweet?"

"Yes, milady."

It wasn't really fair how the castle worked. The royalty, while I recognized that they did have their fair share of work (different, much different than the servants) had so many more opportunities than the common folk. I was lucky, I knew, to work under milady. I could read and write competently, if not elegantly, and I was provided with food and shelter and wonderful friends.

But it was like a network, gossip from the source spiked with untruthfulness. May met me halfway to the stairs and said, "Have you heard the latest?"

I rolled my eyes, feigning disinterest. May saw right through it, moving just past me with her large laundry basket cradled at her ribs. "They say," she said, "they say that Prince Arthur's servant's in the stocks again!"

Oh. "How is that gossip?" I asked. "Merlin's in the stocks every week."

"Yeah," she said, sly, "but they said the Prince stuck him there because he was _jealous!_"

Yeah, right. "You can't believe everything you hear, May," I cautioned and she laughed, taking a left while I continued down toward the kitchens.

(Gullible, so gullible, I felt bad for May.)

* * *

How do I get a quill?

That was the question that took up most of the space in my mind. I needed one or my beautiful new notebook would remain wordless. And that would be a shame.

I was carrying a tray full of sweets up to milady. Stairs? They should all be destroyed. Why didn't people think of a one-floored castle, I wonder? Though, I don't think those would be quite as pretty.

My sister always told me I should actually pay attention to where I'm going. This would be a prime example of exactly how much I listen to her. Not very.

This is what happened: my slipper caught on one of the death-stairs and my footing was lost, my right leg sliding forward without my permission and my left foot remaining planted firmly to the pervious stair. Long story short? I tripped up the stairs, my face landing in the pudding. (Clumsy, definitely clumsy – this was embarrassing).

I managed to pull myself out of the dessert, thanking anything that no one had been around to see that, and coming face to face with Merlin, who was desperately trying not to laugh. Wonderful, just wonderful.

"Thanks," I said, wiping it out of my eyes, "You're such a good friend."

Also? I knew May was wrong about the stocks – she should actually go outside and check maybe instead of just passing along the gossip next time. Likely, some servant had heard Prince Arthur yelling at Merlin again … it happened every day, hour, minute … and that being passed down, down, down until it morphed into to 'Merlin is in the stocks… again'. And I still don't see how that even counts as gossip.

He helped me up, careful not to get any pudding on himself. I guess I was the one who looked like she'd been in the stocks now. I laughed at myself and then bit my lip, realizing I'd done that out loud and must look a little stupid.

But Merlin was just smiling as though people went about laughing at nothing regularly. I picked the tray off the floor, wiped more pudding off my face, and turned around, shaking my head but unable to keep my own smile off my face.

He followed me and we fell into step. "What's this, then?" he asked, holding my notebook out and flipping through the pages. My hands flew instantly to the pocket of my apron and I almost dropped the tray again. "You dropped it," he explained, seeing the look of shock on my face and handing it over. "Sorry."

"No!" I said, relieved, wiping my hands on my dress - I'd need to wash it tonight anyway - and pocketing it again. "Milady, uh… gave it to me and I just don't want to lose it, that's all."

His lips quirked – he could tell I was lying, I think. "But you haven't written anything in it."

I felt my face flush, "I don't have anything to write with."

"Oh," he smiled as we stopped in front of the kitchen. (Smiling, always smiling and optimistic.)

"Gotta get milady some more pudding, if you don't mind," I said, rolling my eyes and he laughed. I thought, goal achieved!

May was waiting on the other side of the door, arms crossed over her chest, a knowing look on her face. "Oh, you think you're so smart…" I muttered.

* * *

I was on my way home for the night thinking I needed to get water to wash my hair – there were still traces of pudding all in it – and wash my dress when I literally bumped into Gwen who had laundry bundled in her arms. "Sorry!" I said, though _really_ it was her who'd run into me.

"No, it's fine," she answered and we knelt to gather the clothes up. She was in a much prettier dress than me. The privileges of rank, I supposed. She worked for the wonderful Lady Morgana and I just worked for milady who was much farther down in the pecking order. "How was your day?" she asked, smiling.

I grinned, the notebook heavy on my legs as I kneeled on the ground, "Not bad." I wouldn't tell Gwen. She was such a lovely person – like Merlin, would do anything for anyone – and she wouldn't approve of stealing. …Even if it was in the notebook's best interest.

"Really?" she asked, eyeing my dress, "because you look a bit of a mess…" she thought about what she said. "Not that you look any different from normal, I mean," she backtracked some more, "I mean, you _do, _because you're not a mess all the time but I just meant that you look – you have food all over your dress, and—"

I laughed, "Gwen, it's all right. Not offended, honestly. I tripped this morning with milady's lunch." To my credit, I only blushed a little under Gwen's look – by which I mean she bit her lip and looked at me pityingly.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, not exactly in the same social circle and not exactly knowing what to say, before I stood up abruptly, smiled and gestured toward the water pump.

She laughed a little (friendly, very friendly, Gwen always knew how to make someone feel better) and I made my way toward the pump, tugging at a strand of hair that had escaped from my left braid.

* * *

The next morning, I dawned my only other dress, determined not to get anything on it, and made my way straight toward the kitchens for milady's food. My precious notebook was transferred to this apron this morning. I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering my sister's reaction when she found out I'd stolen it. She tried to convince me I should return it – without milady finding out, of course.

Yeah, right.

I made my way across the sunny courtyard, smiling as I saw Gwen and Lady Morgana walking together. Lady Morgana may have secretly been my idol just a little bit. Her relationship with Gwen was so open and lovely, like they were friends as well as Lady and Servant. Merlin and Prince Arthur were like that, too. Why did my lady have to be such a—

I screened that thought from my head.

Back to Lady Morgana before I think anymore unbefitting thoughts. She was gorgeous and generous and everyone knew she was the only one who had the nerve to stand up to the king. I wished all people of noble blood were like her. And she definitely deserved something after the incidents with the druids – I shuddered. That would have been horrible, if they had never found her. Plus, my traitorous brain supplied for me, Merlin had been caught bringing her flowers that one time – the rumour had reached me before Prince Arthur viciously squashed it – and if I could just be a little bit more like her—

Another thought screened. I needed to start tracking the beginnings of my thoughts and heading them off sooner.

But for goodness's sake, Prince Arthur had gone to Merlin's village to save it! My Lady would never have done that, the fact that I'd been born and raised in Camelot ignored. Why isn't everyone like that? (Generous, so generous.)

I was happily climbing the stairs, carefully this time, when I heard someone call my name out. If I maybe possibly sort of kind of recognised the voice right away it didn't really matter, right?

Of course it was Merlin and I rolled my eyes at myself, unable to keep a grin from my face when he was smiling like that (blinding, stupidly blinding).

"What would you like now?" I asked, hoping I sounded one part put-upon and one part indulgent. I'm not convinced I pulled it off.

He pretended to look hurt, "Emma, is that what you have to say to me?"

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. "Yes. That's all I have to say. Good day, Merlin," and I turned away to keep from laughing.

"Fine," he sighed and I could imagine the look on his face. "Then I guess you won't be wanting this, will you?"

Curiosity got the better of me and I turned around. My eyes widened as they dropped to what he was holding. It was a long quill, worn and used but lovely nonetheless. In his other hand was a small pot of ink, half empty.

Staring at them, I hadn't realised he'd just kept on talking, "… Gaius said I could have them, he has quite a few, anyway and I thought, since you have your book and all…"

There was a pause in which I failed to activate my voice.

He looked a little nervous – possibly because I had an expression on my face that suggested I was a bit mad – and cleared his throat. "Do you… like them?"

Sometime in the last three minutes I'd dropped my lady's laundry all over the floor – if I folded it, she'd never know – and took the quill and the ink from him, handling them delicately. I ran my fingers up the spine of the quill and was sorely tempted to open the inkpot but I didn't dare in case I spilled it.

And without warning (embarrassing, still embarrassing to look back on), I seemed to have lost control and threw myself at him, my arms around his neck with one hand holding the quill and the other the ink. I had to stand on my tip-toes to actually reach because I was so short. "Thank-you,thank-youthank-you," I said, it all running together like one word.

Merlin grinned, "You're welcome. Can I read it, when you're done?"

I pulled away, slipping my gifts into the apron with the notebook, "Maybe. I'm not sure yet."

* * *

I start it like this:

_Hello, my lovely readers!_


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